Familiarity, Changes, and Inevitable Death
by IzzBot
Summary: House's thoughts on the events of Human Error to 97 Seconds. Maybe his fellows leaving really did affect him more than he thought. Really random, vague fic. No pairings. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: House MD is the property of David Shore.**

**A/N: Sorry if this is confusing… or just plain bad. Also for any grammar mistakes/tense problems. This is just House's musings on the events from Human Error to 97 seconds. Wrote it awhile ago... just thought I'd put it up here and see what people thought. No pairings. **

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Familiarity.

In a world of constant variables and unwanted surprises at every turn, you need a rock. Something steady and sure and always reliable. Something to cling to as the storm approaches and the threatening waves toss you around like a rag doll.

Change is a destructive brought about just to punish you. The moment you get comfortable it comes and in one crippling blow it brings you down, down, down…

The first couple hours… it had hurt, although you would deny it profusely upon questioning. There had been a certain rhythm to your life before, and now you have been strung along into a tune that you don't know how to play… everything is disconcertingly off-key.

It wasn't about them, you think. You didn't miss Cameron's sympathy and annoying empathy, or Foreman's arrogance and defiance, and especially not the inexplicable way that Chase always knew what was in your head. The things that you 'missed' were so inconsequential that you didn't know how to begin to get over it. Your sadistic tendencies are qualified as you realize you miss how easy it was to torture them…

And then you saw the light in all of its clichéd glory. You got out your new guitar and strummed enthusiastically at the resistant strings until the tips of your fingers burned and thick calluses were formed. Wilson was constantly in your head… time to make a change, he had said. Hey, you were miserable before (or so everyone kept telling you) so how much worse could it get?

And then you dived… deeper and deeper into the cold, foreboding waters of the tumultuous ocean that was your life… and you embraced the change.

And for awhile you were happy… well, as happy as could be expected… and without Wilson even slipping you something (well, you don't think so.) You had a pretty good summer… not nearly as good as the previous one, when you actually had full use of your leg, but still. You concocted your new game for the year: the super-extended job interview. Maybe you were getting too comfortable… so things had to change yet again.

Quick glimpses of the people from your past puts you in a turmoil… and you aren't sure why. You think you are going insane… sabotaging yourself by conjuring up these ghosts. And your so called friend lets you believe this. It unnerves you that you cannot see through his deceit so easily, if only a small one. When you found out it was all a lie, you felt… shaky. And this sudden set-back had you reeling. You don't know why they are affecting you…

Memories. A constant annoyance. When you look back on the years you notice how much you actually had gone through with them. Wilson had used the word 'bonded' and you had scoffed, but it's true. Somehow, they started caring about you. The idiots tripped all over themselves trying to help you when they thought you had brain cancer… you are as baffled as to why they care as to why you care. There's so much goddamn caring going on and you don't know how that happened. What happened to the comfortably numb-feeling you had gotten so used to? When did they, even if they are a select few, start worming their way into your life?

And, like a fool, you revert back into your behavior from last year. Yelling at Chase is one of your favorite past-times, so you have no reservations when you walk up to him and go on your usual rant. His cold defiance was like a slap to the face and you barely heard Cameron as she said. "I like him this way… you?"

Not in the least.

A feeling somewhat akin to panic forced its way into you as all three of them popped up into your 'new' life. The new ducklings' voices started to sound like Cameron and Chase… and you could tell when they cheated and ran to your former employees. Then there was Foreman. You barely have the energy to be smug that he failed on his own. The one who had made it his goal to get as far away from you as possible ended up right back where he started… right by your side.

Your life is a mess of new and old and you struggle to calm the rising tidal wave. Puzzles equal tranquility and you find refuge in the practiced focus a case required. And then a terrible intrigue came along…

A part of you recognizes the danger of your new obsession. As you trail your fingers along the cold steal of the knife, red flashing lights go off in your head, warning you. You ignore it, like always.

The afterlife has always fascinated you. Along with feeding your cynicism- what idiot actually believed that as their body shut down their soul would rise and enter the pearly gates… and an eternity of relaxation and overall fun awaited them? But, if not that, then what? This was a question that you did not have the answer to. And this was the question that plagued your mind.

Rashness is something that people around you have become accustomed to. The strangeness of this 'rash' act, though, is that it wasn't rash at all. Normally, it would take a quick second before you made up your mind about something and acted accordingly. This, though, you spent days rolling over in your mind. You knew what you were doing when you stuck the knife in that socket.

You can say you were employing the scientific method. You can say it was a controlled experiment only… but, somehow, you know that that's not the whole truth. You had been feeling restless and out of control before you even met the man that came up with this ingenious (idiotic) plan.

You open your eyes. You have been awake for awhile, quietly contemplating the situation. You feel ashamed, actually. And stupid. And guilty. A combination that you hate the most. You feel like a disappointment… and you are disappointed.

You had been listening to the sounds of shuffling feet and quiet breathing. After awhile you concluded it is Wilson. You thought maybe it would be safe to come back to the land of the living. Maybe he won't be too mad…

So, you open your eyes.

"You're an idiot."

That you are, you think. You feel the slightest bit of remorse, but push it down never to be acknowledged again.

Wilson's right. You didn't care if you had lived. You didn't care about anything. You stare up at the monotonous white ceiling tiles. One exactly the same as the other – all of them white and plain, unassuming. They seem to go on forever. You start to count them – _one, two, three._

You ignore the thoughts in your head, Wilson's lecture, the pain in your hand. You wish for the oblivion the electrocution had brought. You didn't care if you had died… if you had lived. It is a depressing revelation that you take in stride. So you count, and you wait. Because there is only one absolute in life: death.

Sometimes death just comes quicker.

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**A/N: Please review… even if it is just to tell me that this is the worst thing you've ever read. Thanks for reading.**


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